Two Days, Two Rooms
by ImaginaryGirlxx
Summary: If ten people are faced with the same situation, the chances are they will have ten different responses. So why then, do two completely different women defy all logic and reason and choose to confide in the same abrasive, rude, and insensitive individual? Built upon a scene from One Day, One Room. Trigger warning for abuse, rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

If ten people are faced with the same situation, the chances are they will have ten different responses. Imagine your train is late. You might sigh and look angrily at your watch. Someone else might start pacing, another person begins to shout at the nearest available guard. The same rule applies when a thousand people are faced with the same situation. This is because our behaviours are a result of the unique paths our lives have taken. The exact combination of experiences between individuals can never be replicated. So why then, do two completely different women defy all logic and reason and choose to confide in the same abrasive, rude, and insensitive individual?

As House sat next to this young woman, he wracked his brain for a reason why she might have put her trust in him. He hadn't treated her differently than any other patient. He had mocked her for catching an STD and had barely given her the time of day. These were not hallmarks of a character you want to share a secret with.

Unfortunately, this was not a situation that House was unfamiliar with. Not too long ago someone else had felt comfortable to share her own horrific experience with him. The difference is, he had known this woman. He had worked with her for years and she knew better than most how much of a jerk he could be.

Neither conversation had taken the direction he had expected, and that unnerved House.

Why was she asking him about the weather?

He wasn't good at this. He knew his strengths, and he had many of them, but he also knew his weaknesses. He needed to talk to someone else, anyone else. House needed help.

She could have gone to anyone in the whole hospital and they would be better equipped to help her.

Why did she choose him?

And how could this anomaly have occurred twice?

House found himself walking out of the girl's hospital room and heading for his office. Maybe someone on his team would have a startling insight? Or maybe someone would say something insignificant and the details would click into place.

"You help her." House ordered Cameron, after explaining what had happened to his employees.

"She wants you." Cameron argued back gently.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "God knows why."

"She doesn't know what she wants." House replied.

"She knows she wants you. You're the first person she spoke to about this." Cameron tried to reason. House could tell she was being sincere; she was probably the easiest member of his team to read. But Cameron believing her own words did not make them true.

"The fact that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time should be trumped by the fact that I'm useless at this."

Cameron tried her hardest to catch his eye. "No, you're not." She said with certainty. He met her gaze and it was as if for a second he was taken to another place, another time. Cameron truly believed he had the ability to help this girl. Surely that means he must have done something right?

The brief tangent his mind took was annoyingly interrupted by Chase's scoffing at Cameron's remark. "You romantically wanting to believe that is never going to make it true."

The team continued to debate how House should handle the situation, and House had to give himself credit for contributing. His mind was elsewhere. Cameron's comment had thrown him.

Truth be told, Cameron's affirmation that he was not, in fact, useless plagued his mind all afternoon and into the late hours of the evening as he sipped scotch in the dull light of his apartment. He swirled the deep amber liquid around in the glass, his thoughts completely elsewhere.

One might comment, actually Wilson had commented, that House had been more abrasive than usual the past few months. On a bad day, he would lash out at people for merely crossing his path. There was no idiocy to mock; yet he chose to mock it anyway. As much as they had tried, neither Wilson nor Cuddy, nor House's team, had not been able to pinpoint exactly what had changed. Save, perhaps, Alison Cameron. Not that anyone else was privy to this information. For his faults, House considered it the least he could do to stick to his word where Cameron was concerned. She wanted it kept a secret, so it was.

This might well have been House's only thoughtful move throughout the whole ordeal, at least as far as he was concerned. He couldn't see how his actions had helped the situation at all, or why she had taken this to him in the first place. What did she expect? If she wanted empathy she could have gone to any member of the team and had more success. If she wanted safety, she could have spoken to a friend or family member who would take her in and coddle her until things were more manageable. If she wanted undeniable altruism, she could have gone to Wilson. Instead, she chose him. And he was the last thing she needed. He wished he was different, but it just wasn't his personality. He had cursed himself for that fact every day since.

But Cameron hadn't?

Why not?

What, among the sea of mistakes he had made, had stuck out in her mind to make her truly believe that he had helped her? That he could deal with situations like this? That he was not useless?

* * *

He remembered that first night clearly: the knock on his door, the sound of sobbing from outside. He had shouted at whomever it was to go away. He didn't want his lonely, miserable night in to be disturbed by what appeared to be another lonely, miserable human being. There was another knock. House ignored it. Then silence. They had given up.

House had thought nothing of this occurrence until a few days later when it happened again. He had shouted again, his language vulgar and his tone as far from sympathetic as he believed it was possible to get. Silence fell once again.

The next night there was a third knock at his door. This time there were no sobs. Perhaps it was someone else? Or perhaps something had changed with this mysterious crying stranger. It was an anomaly. House liked anomalies. He liked to explain them, to solve the puzzle. So this time he didn't shout. He didn't swear. He didn't ignore them. Instead, he reached for his cane and slowly made his way to the door.

From everything that he had been expecting, the bloody and bruised young woman now standing in front of him was far from the top of his list.

House couldn't say anything. He was in shock.

It didn't seem like an invitation inside was needed, however, when the woman walked straight past House and sat herself down on his couch.

Questions raced through House's mind. So rarely was he lost for words that he could honestly say he didn't know what would come out of his mouth first. What happened? Who did this? Can I kill them? Was that you knocking at my door the other nights? Why are you here? Have you called the police? Where are you hurt?

"I thought you were visiting family?" Of all the possibilities, this was the question that his mind decided to prioritise. House cursed at himself.

"I lied." She replied, so quiet he almost missed it.

"Your boyfriend did this." House concluded. He had known she was seeing someone, but never brought the topic up.

She nodded.

"Why did you…" He trailed off. "How could you…" Again. "You let him get away with this?"

The woman was seething.

"Do you think it was my choice? Do you really think I would let someone do this to me? I tried. I tried to get help. I've been here coming all week, every night, to try and get you to help me. Some days, I even managed to make it to the front door and knock only to have you shout more abuse at me."

"Why me? You could have asked someone else to help you. You could have gone to the police." House probed.

"What does it matter? I'm scared, House. I'm scared and I'm hurting and you're acting like a jerk."

"So leave." He retorted. It wasn't what he wanted to happen. He wanted to help her, to protect her. He couldn't stand to see her in this much pain.

He also couldn't stand to know he could have prevented it.

The woman got up. "Fine." She said, walking towards the door.

"Don't." House said with a start.

"I don't know why I expected this to end any differently." She retorted.

"Cameron." She didn't turn her head. Even in her pained state, she figured she could outrun him. Not that he would follow her anyway. "Cameron." He repeated, his tone pleading. She told herself to keep walking. Just get out of this house. "Allison."

At this, she turned around.

"What changed?" She asked.

"Nothing. But I can't have you leaving in that state. I am a doctor, let me help."

"I'm also a doctor. Coming here was a mistake, I'll sort myself out."

"Being bratty doesn't suit you." He commented.

"And being nice doesn't suit you. Always go with your first instinct." Cameron retorted.

"Sit down." He kept his voice calm and as far from authoritative as he could make it. Clearly she wanted his help, and he would be damned if he didn't at least try.

Cameron hesitated. Could she really trust him? She sighed and headed back to the couch, figuring there was little point arguing further. She was in too much pain and was struggling to think straight.

"Let me see." House ordered, his voice soft but clearly intending to give him some control over the situation. He knew he should have asked her more sensitively as soon as the words left his mouth, and Cameron's rigid stance confirmed that. He needed a different approach. He needed to fight his instincts now for the sake of the woman in front of him. "Where do you want to start?" He asked.

Slowly, Cameron unbuttoned her coat and shrugged it off her shoulders. He could see the bruising on her arms, making him feel sick to his stomach. House was about to turn to get his first aid kit when he noticed Cameron was still undressing. She was tackling the buttons on her blouse, her shaking fingers making the task harder than it would normally be. For the first time that evening, he could see her guards had completely dropped. She was allowing herself to be vulnerable and it scared him. He didn't know how to act, how to respond. He was desperately afraid of accidentally making things worse for her.

Why had she even come to him?

In that moment, Cameron's mind reached a hesitant conclusion to that same question. It was a question she had been plagued by all week. Why House? Did she still like him? Did she think he would hold her in his arms and promise never to let anyone hurt her again? Was that what she wanted? _Perhaps._ But was it what she needed?

Cameron realised that in this moment she needed House to be House. She needed his lack of boundaries, his rudeness, and his stubbornness. She needed someone to force her kicking in screaming out of hiding from this reality. If she thought someone asking nicely would help, she would have gone to… well, anyone else. But she chose House because she knew him and she knew herself. She wouldn't open up without a fight and the self-preservation part of her brain told her that this fight was needed now. Things had gone too far. She couldn't back out.

Focussing on this had caused Cameron to let her guard down and she noticed her hands shaking as she undid the buttons on her blouse. She could feel House's eyes on her, burning their own distinct marks into her skin, just as the sight of her bruised body was burned into his memory.

She stopped as she reached the last button, allowing her top to fall freely and exposing her torso. She was covered in bruises, some older and turning to sickening shades of yellow and green, while others looked more recent. Every single mark made House's blood boil.

House couldn't look any more. He couldn't stand the sight of her in so much pain. He turned away and went to find his first aid kit, taking the brief respite to compose himself before he had to face her again. It took everything in his power not to break down and shout and scream at this unjust universe. House had taken on many fellows over the years – they were great assets to the department as they meant he could have minimal contact with his patients. Every single one of them was smart; he wouldn't have hired them if they weren't. Every single one was also ambitious; they had to be to put themselves through working under him. He had even found some of them tolerable. But rarely did he actually find someone he liked. But there was something about Cameron. Perhaps the way she cared for everyone whilst still meeting all his criteria for a half-decent fellow? Or perhaps it was because she had a backbone and wasn't afraid to fight for what she believed was right? He didn't know what it was, but he knew she was one he'd remember. She was one of the benchmarks upon which future fellows would be measured. House rationalised that was why he was so affected by seeing her hurt. He saw people hurting every day in the hospital and not a single one had got to him like she had tonight.

Or perhaps, it was because he did care?

By the time he returned with the first aid kit, Cameron was sat on his couch in nothing but her underwear. Of all scenarios where this moment could have occurred, House had never pictured it happening like this. Not that he had imagined this happening…. much…. or that's what anyone who asked would be told. Still, no one could deny she was attractive.

House also knew that Cameron was strong, but right now she looked anything but. She was so small, barely taking up half of a cushion on his couch. He raised an eyebrow at how little she was wearing, and it seemed Cameron had heard his silent question.

"If I stopped, I don't know if I would have been able to start again." She explained quietly, not meeting his gaze.

"Where should I start?" He asked her, and Cameron shrugged her shoulders. He'd have to treat all of her wounds eventually, what did it matter what order?

House made the decision to start with her arms. They seemed the most neutral body part. Carefully, he worked to clean her wounds, and dress those that needed it. Once the dried blood had been cleaned away from her skin, House braved another look at her whole body. It was somehow worse now, because he could see exactly where she was hurt, rather than giving his imagination the chance to minimise the harm done to her.

He continued to work in silence, and Cameron watched his every move like a hawk. She was scared; he could see it in her eyes and her posture. Alert, watching, assessing. Was she safe? But one thing House noticed more than what she was doing, was what she wasn't doing. She wasn't flinching. She didn't try to move away when he had to treat the skin around her breasts, nor did she try to pull away when he wiped alcohol on a particularly deep cut on her thigh. She may have been scared, but she was also so brave. This surprised House, and he allowed himself to feel a moment of pride.

This pride began to slip away, however, when the second he finished Cameron grabbed her clothes and her purse and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.

"Home. Thank you for your help. I'll see you at work on Monday." She said quickly, tripping over her words slightly at the speed with which she had tried to get them out.

"You really think I'm letting you go back there?" House scoffed.

"I'm not asking for your permission." Cameron turned back to face him. "I appreciate you helping me. I really do. But please don't tell anyone what happened."

"Are you an idiot?"

Cameron turned on her heel and went to leave. House, cursing his leg, could physically do nothing to stop her. They both knew it.

"It's _my_ life, House." She opened the door, not turning back.

"And you're _my_ employee and so long as you're working for me I won't let you turn into a punching bag"

"Then hire another fellow."

"Cameron…."

"Goodbye House."


	2. Chapter 2

House was obsessing. He knew he was obsessing – it's what he does. Any puzzle can be solved if he gives it enough time, so that is exactly what he did. He spent the weekend obsessing over every little detail of Cameron's visit, trying to figure out where they had gone so wrong. How had it ended that way?

But House didn't stop there. He started to pick apart every time he'd seen her since he realised this new boyfriend was on the scene. What had he missed? Was she acting hurt? Was she showing any signs of being the broken woman he had helped on Friday night? He remembered a time when Chase had knocked his mug off the table and she had jumped out of her skin at the sound of it crashing to the floor. His mind went to how she was starting to look more tired in recent weeks. Or was she? Were these pieces to his puzzle or a desperate attempt to find meaning? House realised he couldn't be sure this wasn't all his imagination. He needed to talk to someone. He wanted to talk to Wilson, but there was a niggling feeling inside that told him that was the wrong move. Where had that feeling been the other night? Not for the first time, he cursed at himself for how insensitive he had been.

He knew what he needed. He needed to talk to Cameron.

House planned to get to work early on Monday morning and catch her before his other fellows came in. Cameron was always early – it was one of the things he found most annoying about her. She persisted in this despite the fact that he rarely arrived before ten. By 8:30 at the latest every working day for the last three years his unfailingly reliable employee would be in the office sipping coffee and catching up on his paperwork.

Every morning, except apparently this one.

Where was she?

House had arrived at quarter to nine and there was no sign of Cameron.

He sighed and sat down at his desk, his mind already working to come up with a convincing lie to tell Chase and Foreman when they saw him at work so early. Almost simultaneously, he was conjuring up another lie to explain Cameron's absence. They would both have known that Cameron was due back from her week off today and he felt it his duty to maintain her privacy. For a brief moment House wondered why he was bothering with this detail. It crossed his mind for a second that he probably pitied the young doctor, although he got the feeling this wasn't the whole story. Still, he'd have time to obsess over that later, once he had sent Chase and Foreman off to test their patient for whatever remotely feasible diagnosis they came up with first. His mind was too busy focusing on his latest puzzle to worry about the old news that was his deaf-blind patient with liver failure. He had taken the case thinking that it would be more interesting than having a patient who could communicate normally with him, although he was finding it frustrating that he couldn't even get a lie out of the man to berate him or question his life choices. Cameron would have been all over the case, he thought. Someone who she could try and fix, to care for and to make life better for.

Foreman arrived a little after nine, and Chase followed not long behind. They prepared their coffees and sat down to review the file, not having noticed House in the adjacent room. Why would they? They had no reason to look over there as House wouldn't ever be on time, let alone early.

House knew that this was the perfect opportunity to screw with them. He spent a few minutes trying to think up the perfect prank; after all he had many up his sleeves, but kept coming up short of ideas. His mind, as it had been all weekend, kept going back to Cameron. Why couldn't he let this go? Frustrated, he gave up and stormed in to the outer office; in a way that both of his fellows knew left no room for questions.

* * *

It was past ten by the time his fellows left the room. House had been going out of his mind with worry that Cameron had still not shown up for work. Even when she had been sick she would make sure that he got a message that she'd be away. House realised then that there were very few possibilities as to why she wasn't here, and none of them were good. Either she was still mad at him, which he felt was probably completely justified but skiving off from work was a very un-Cameron-like response to the situation; or her boyfriend had done something much worse to her.

House knew it was probably the latter and he couldn't wait another second to find out for certain. He limped to his bike, as fast as his useless leg would allow, and sped past all the idiot drivers between the hospital and Cameron's apartment that clearly had nothing better to do with their day than waste it driving at a leisurely pace through the town's streets.

He reached her apartment in record time and started to bang on the door loudly with his cane. The desperation in his actions could be seen and understood easily by most. Unfortunately, the hurt woman on the other side of the door was not one of them.

Cameron, who had been trying for the past hour to will her aching body to move, had just about felt ready to make the painful trip to the bathroom to clean herself up when she had heard an angry banging at her front door. He mind instantly went to Chris, her boyfriend who was notorious for forgetting his key, or else took some pleasure in having her let him into her apartment herself. She couldn't be sure which was true, nor did she really care right now. All she cared about was getting cleaned up and finding whatever pain medication she had to dull the torture her body was going through. This had been her mind's sole focus, and even then was at times too much to handle. To have to deal with Chris again, or perhaps worse a concerned neighbour, who was not expecting to see her in this state, was more than she could bear to think about. So instead she chose not to. Cameron curled her body up smaller and tighter than she already had, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the world.

A few feet away, House was becoming more impatient. He had seen her car outside; she had to be home. Why wasn't she coming to the door? His mind jumped to the worst possible scenario as his hand was already fishing though his pocket for the spare key he had made when she first started working for him.

The key turned in the lock and House opened the door, breathing a sigh of relief that the living room looked normal.

"Cameron!" He called out. There was no response. "Cameron!" He tried again.

House made his way to what he assumed was the bedroom and pushed the door open. His heart sank at the sight of the mess that lay before him. Bed sheets were thrown on the floor, the lampshade was hanging at an almost impossible angle, something, he guessed a mug, had been smashed and there was a powerful smell of coffee hanging in the air. House saw photo frames shattered all over the floor, depicting images of happier times in the young woman's life. How he wished life were still like that for her.

While it was obvious something had happened here, there was still no sign of Cameron. He was about to leave to check the other rooms when he saw something in the corner of his eye.

Cameron was crouched down, her back to the bed, in the furthest possible hiding space from the door.

"Cameron?" He asked again, this time more gently. "Alison?" He still couldn't get a response. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to get some rise out of her. Her breath was steady, it was as if she had no idea he was there, as if her mind had completely shut her body down.

The fear that had momentarily subsided in House upon finding her alive quickly returned. He could tell that whatever was happening either psychological, following the trauma, or neurological, likely as a result of a damaging blow to the head. He knew that a psychological response would be easier to diagnose. If this was the case, Cameron was likely to be experiencing some form of dissociation as a protective mechanism for her mind following the assault. He pushed himself off from the floor next to her, his leg beginning to throb from the extra strain he had been putting on it, and made his way to the kitchen. He was looking for something to cause an intense physical sensation to bring her out of the dissociative state. Making his way to the freezer, he grabbed a bag of ice and walked back to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry." House said, as he took the bag and placed it on Cameron's exposed arm. "Alison?" He asked again.

He could hear her breathing start to speed up, almost as if the fear was returning to her mind once again.

"Leave me alone." She whimpered.

"Alison!" House repeated, this time raising his voice a little more.

"Leave me alone!" This time she shouted. Her breathing was getting faster and faster, she was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Come on, Cameron, snap out of it." House said, the volume of his voice almost matching hers.

House could tell her was getting nowhere by shouting. She was reaching the point of having a panic attack and he knew he needed to bring her breathing back down to normal as quickly as possible.

"Ok, Cameron I need you to listen to me." He said, loudly enough for her to hear and very firmly, as if leaving her no room to argue. He prompted her a few more times to be sure that he had her attention. "I need you to take some slow breaths for me now, ok? I want you to breathe in through your nose and blow the air out through your mouth for as long as you can until I say stop." Cameron nodded. "Ok breathe in." She took a breath. "And out… and stop. Breathe in again."

House continued this routine, coaching the scared woman in front of him until her breathing had returned to normal.

They sat in silence for a while; Cameron trying to find herself back in the present moment and House waiting anxiously until he felt enough time had passed for him to request to look at her injuries. Although he knew he shouldn't be the first to break the silence, after a few more minutes House wondered if Cameron would ever speak up. He needed to take matters into his own hands.

"I need to see what he did to you." He said evenly, as if there was no emotion behind the loaded request.

"I can deal with this on my own, House." Cameron retorted.

"Clearly you can't." He replied.

"I would have been fine if you hadn't come banging on the door."

"I didn't do this to you, your ass of a boyfriend did."

"Get out!" She snapped. House didn't move. "Get out of my place and leave me alone. This is all your fault!"

House saw red.

"You're the one that went back to him. You kept turning up at my door, expecting me to fix everything when you're doing nothing to help yourself!"

This was not what Cameron had been expecting from him. She knew he could be a jerk, he could be unfair, but she had never thought of his as cruel. She could feel her blood boiling and clenched her fists, as if preparing herself to fight.

"You don't know anything about it, do you?"

"So explain this to me then, because I'm really struggling to understand how you could be that self destructive that you keep putting yourself in a position that you know will only end in pain."

"I can't…" Cameron started, her eyes filling with tears and her heart filling with rage. "I can't leave him."

"Yes you can."

"Are you saying I wanted this to happen?" She questioned, uncurling her body slightly in a primal attempt to make herself look bigger and more threatening. It had the opposite effect, in House's eyes, as he had never seen her looking smaller and more vulnerable than she did in this moment.

"I'm saying you need to fix people. Even abusive people. Why else would you go back to him after everything he's done to you?"

Cameron was stunned into silence. Her rational mind knew that House was wrong, but she was starting to question why she stayed with Chris. There was no logical reason, not any more. He swore he'd change the first few times, but lately he wasn't even doing that. Why was the idea of leaving him still so painful?

"I need to get myself cleaned up." She decided.

"Avoidance is a great strategy." House commented sarcastically.

"Coming from the man who avoids feeling anything by spending every waking moment high as a kite."

Leaning forward, using the floor as support, Cameron attempted to push herself up from behind the bed but the weight of her body was too much for her injured arms to take.

"Let me help." House said.

Cameron tried a couple more times to get up without success. He body had become stiff from holding it in one position for so long, which was only exacerbating the pain that she was in. She resigned herself to the fact that right now she did need House's help.

"Where's your first aid kit?" He asked.

"Kitchen cupboard above the oven." Cameron grunted through the pain.

House went to fetch it and spent the next hour helping Cameron to wash and dress her various wounds. It was definitely worse than it had been when she came to his house. He knew she had to be in a lot of pain.

Reaching into his pocket, House pulled out a familiar orange bottle of pills. He poured three out into his hand, taking two for himself and offering her the third. Cameron considered his offer for a moment, before taking the Vicodin.

"You're not coming in to work today." House told her.

Cameron could only nod. She felt shame as she watched him patch her broken body back together and couldn't imagine having to face her colleagues looking and feeling like she did.

"Take a few days off, I expect you back at work by the end of the week."

Again, she nodded. There were no words that could be said to make either of them feel better in this moment.

Once House had finished, all he wanted to do was leave without saying another word. He was feeling a storm of emotions and knew he'd say something he regretted if he allowed himself to open his mouth.

He approached the door and was about to leave when he heard Cameron call out to him.

"Don't tell anyone, please."

There was a desperation in her voice unlike anything he'd heard before.

"Fine."

He shut the door to her apartment and once again Cameron was left alone.


	3. Chapter 3

House was starting to think that worrying about Cameron had become his default state of emotion. He couldn't get her off his mind all day, so much so that his fellows solved the case without any help from him. It's not that they weren't smart enough to solve it, he wouldn't have hired them in that case, but rarely did they reach a diagnosis before him. He'd never admit that it happened today, of course, but it definitely affected him.

His mind just kept drifting back to finding Cameron in such a bad state. He'd always thought she was strong. It was part of the reason why he'd hired her. Why was this having such an impact on her?

So House did what he always did when he needed a sounding board- he went to find someone to talk at. His fellows had gone home and he couldn't find Wilson in his office, the oncology ward or the cafeteria. Even so, he figured Wilson would try and find out who House was talking about, and he had told assured Cameron that no one else would find out. Why this suddenly mattered to him, House didn't know. But for some reason it did. And it was for this reason, whatever it was, that House found himself knocking on the office door of Dr Young, the hospital's consultant psychiatrist.

"Come in." Dr Young said. The look of shock on her face when she looked up and saw House on the other side of the door was a perfect picture. If only House felt it was one he could treasure. Were this visit under different circumstances, perhaps he would do. "Dr House, what can I do for you?" She asked as she expertly schooled her face to hide the shock that had been there moments ago.

"I'm here for a consult." He said, grimacing as he spoke.

"Take a seat."

"Young woman in an abusive relationship was found dissociating. I brought her out of it she had a panic attack."

"Well that's not uncommon, unfortunately."

"It is for her."

"Do you know the patient well?" House nodded. "It can be hard to see someone struggling with symptoms like this. It sounds like she might be re-experiencing the trauma, which I'm sure you know is a hallmark of PTSD. I can't make a diagnosis without meeting her, and there are other symptoms to watch out for – the key ones being avoidance and hyper-arousal. I can have a look in my diary and see if I have an appointment free for her."

"She doesn't need to see you and she doesn't have PTSD." House replied.

"You really care about her, don't you?" Dr Young asked. House was dumbfounded. "You've never come to me for a consult, you have a reputation for never meeting your patients and yet you claim to know this patient well, and you're showing signs of denial only a close friend or family member would show."

One might say you could colour House impressed. He would be the first to admit he didn't have much respect for psychiatry as a discipline. He also had a fairly strong suspicion that the panic attack and dissociation were linked to the trauma of her relationship with that douchebag, and most likely symptoms of PTSD. What he didn't expect, however, was how well Dr Young had been able to read him.

"How do I fix her?"

Dr Young sighed. "There's no quick fix. This is something she'll have to work on over time. But you can be there for her and you can support her when she's struggling. Let her talk if she wants to talk, and give her space when she asks for space. She's probably feeling very isolated right now, she needs to feel like she's not alone without losing her sense of identity and independence."

"So be close but not too close, talk to her but leave her alone." House growled, frustrated by Dr Young's response.

"Listen to her." She replied. "Take things at her pace, not yours. Reassure her that what she's feeling is normal and completely valid."

"You're describing a completely different person here."

"I don't think I am. If you care as much as I think you do about this woman you'll give her all the time she needs."

"This wasn't supposed to happen. She shouldn't be like this. She's too strong to have PTSD." House's anger at Cameron's boyfriend was growing. How dare he do this to her? Leave her so broken and just keep coming back and breaking her over and over again. And why was she still with him? Why did she keep getting herself in this situation?

"Her reactions are completely normal, you know this. Our minds aren't designed to cope with that extreme stress. It doesn't mean she's not strong. Her mind is overwhelmed with stress and survival instincts are kicking in. She's probably not been able to process the memories of the abuse like you would process a normal memory. And the constant terror is adding increasing pressure."

"She needs to get out of this relationship." House concluded, standing up ready to leave the psychiatrist's office.

"It might not be that simple." Dr Young replied, but House was already out of the door.

He passed through the corridors of the hospital as if on autopilot. There was only once place he needed to be and every second that he was not there the unthinkable could be happening. He needed to get to Cameron and convince her to break up with her boyfriend.

After bumping in to a few inconsiderate people who had littered the halls and crossed his important path, House was beginning to lose his temper. His focus was on saving Cameron, could they not see that? Did they not know how important it was that he reached her in time? How could they be so oblivious when there was so much at stake?

The paediatric nurse fetching some crayons and paper for one of her patients was the unlucky fifth person to have temporarily blocked House's path.

"What the hell do you think you're doing you idiot?" He yelled at her, anger from his four previous encounters in the corridor fuelling him. "Are you blind or completely stupid? This cane isn't here as a fashion statement, and I have somewhere way more important to be than with snot nosed kids and whining parents. I suggest you get out of my way before I have your incompetent ass fired!"

The nurse, who was clearly new and unfamiliar with House's ways, started to cry and quickly vacated the corridor.

House breathed a sigh of relief as he continued walking towards the elevator.

"House."

Keep walking.

"House!"

Don't look back. You don't have time for this.

"HOUSE!"

Wilson had heard the incident with the nurse from his office and was quickly approaching House. He knew that Wilson could overtake him with two working legs but House persisted in trying to get to the elevator.

"We need to talk." Wilson eventually said as he passed House and took a stand in front of him, slightly breathless from his run down the corridor.

"Not now, busy." House replied shortly.

"Yes, now. You're not yourself House."

"What? Yelling at people who annoy me is me not being myself? Clearly the last few decades of my life have been a lie."

"You only yell at people when something's upset you." Wilson explained. "I'm your friend. For both your sake and the sake of what's left of the nurses we are going to talk about what's wrong."

House took a second to consider his options. He could give Wilson a few minutes of his time, which could turn into a few hours, or he could go and find Cameron now and face Wilson's wrath later. He much preferred the latter option. He had to get to Cameron, no matter what.

"What's wrong right now is you stopping me from going where I want to go."

"You can't keep on like this. Everyone's noticed you've been more of an ass the last couple of days and I can't stand by and let you spiral out of control."

"I'm not out of control, I am perfectly in control. Just watch as I walk away from you in complete control." House turned on his heel and started to walk away.

House was often, if not always, arguably the smartest person in the room. He knew it, and everyone else knew it. However, for House being smart came hand in hand with being arrogant. No one could be smarter than him, so everyone else must be stupid. This was one of the major flaws in his worldview. It was inconceivable that Wilson could have any idea what was going on for him. This fact brought him some comfort, in light of everything else that was spiralling into disaster around him.

"I know it's about Cameron." Wilson shouted after him.

House saw red.

His only saving grace had been that he made sure no one else knew what was happening to Cameron. He had made a promise to himself that things would stay that way and he was no about to let Wilson ruin that. Shouting about her in the busy hospital corridor was the last thing he needed. So, against all instincts telling him to run to Cameron's rescue, he marched back over to Wilson as fast as his leg would allow and pulled him into a nearby office.

"So I'm right." Wilson commented, looking far too pleased with himself. "Dr Young just called saying you came to her for a consult."

House could tell Wilson was close to the truth, if he hadn't figured it out already.

"She told me you were more concerned for this woman than she would expect from you, and with Cameron not being in today and you clearly liking her more than you're letting on, it's not a far stretch."

"So you put 2 and 2 together and came up with 27?" House scoffed.

"That wasn't a denial."

"It was an acknowledgement that your conclusion is so far fetched it doesn't even justify me denying it."

"If it's not Cameron, then it's either Cuddy or Stacey. They are the only other women you care enough about for something like this to affect you so much." Wilson concluded.

"Keep shooting in the dark. You might hit it eventually, or knock yourself out trying."

A light bulb came on in Wilson's mind. "You're deflecting. You're not denying, you're attacking me because you're uncomfortable. Which means…" He paused, double and triple checking the evidence in his mind supported his conclusion. There could be no possibility he was wrong about this. "It is Cameron!"

Wilson's smug look for figuring out House's secret was soon wiped from his face as a look of concern grew in its place. "Wait, it's Cameron?" He asked.

"Do you really think I'd tell you if it was?" House questioned him. He knew Wilson probably better than the oncologist knew himself. He had to throw him off the trail somehow.

"Yes, you would. You'd be teasing and berating her about it then you'd come and gossip to me."

If only Wilson knew House as well as House knew Wilson.

"You mean, you're just manipulating me? You're getting me all worked up and concerned when Cameron's completely fine? For what? Some sick joke?"

"Does that really shock you?"

"This is a new low House, even for you."

"Have a nice day, Wilson." House plastered on a smile as he left the office. Well, maybe the smile wasn't completely fake. He had successfully hidden the truth from Wilson when it was staring him right in the face. House would always get some satisfaction from that.

He knew he couldn't leave the hospital now though. Wilson was still going to be suspicious. Reluctantly, he decided to stay at work for a few more hours and visit Cameron again that evening.

Those few hours felt like days. House watched the clock and he felt every second tick by. While he would never admit it, his worry for Cameron was seriously distracting his focus. He had missed easy facts in the differential, to the point where Foreman had to pick him up on it.

"Where have you been all day, House?" He asked. "There's clearly something wrong with the guy we're missing. What's his potassium?"

"Low" Chase replied. "But not worryingly. Are we back to alcoholism?"

"It explains all his other symptoms."

"And the lack of alcohol in his blood?"

Hose zoned out again. His fellows had been back and forth with the same few ideas for what felt like hours.

"House!" Chase shouted. "Are you even paying attention?"

"I usually choose not to. Why waste my time listening to you two idiots?"

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

House didn't say anything.

"House, if you know something and don't tell us…" Foreman started.

"You'll do what? Go to Cuddy?" House snapped. "Do you really think I would let you two flap around like headless chickens if I knew what was wrong with the guy? I just can't think when you're both going in the same circle getting nowhere."

House stormed out, leaving Foreman and Chase to continue their differential alone.

Try as he might, even without his team annoying him House could not keep focussed on the case. His mind was taken over with thoughts of Cameron being hurt while he was stuck at work, or reliving her boyfriend's abuse on a loop in her mind.

He thought back to what Dr Young had said about him being in denial. House knew the facts. He knew what was happening. Maybe that's why it was so difficult for him to accept. He knew the truth but the truth hurt. It hurt more than anything. More than Stacey, more than his bastard father, more than his leg. It was all he could do to keep face for the men sitting in the next room, not wanting to let on that he was worried for risk of exposing Cameron's secret.

He watched as the hands on the clock finally hit 5pm. Without a word to the men in the next room, House gathered his cane and leather jacket and left the office. He reached his bike in almost record time. Mounting the bike, he had nothing but his destination in mind. It was as if he was riding completely on autopilot. He didn't stop at the stop signs and he got beeped at by a few angry motorists but these details barely registered in his mind.

House had finally reached Cameron's front door. Remembering how scared she had been the last time he was here, he thought it best not to knock. Instead, House pulled out his copy of her key and let himself in.

Just as he was turning the key in the lock, House felt a pang of anxiety. What had he missed? Why was he so worried? House noticed every small detail, things that everyone else would just pass off. These details were almost always important and definitely worth paying attention to.

As much as his mind was screaming at him to stop and assess the situation for just a few more seconds, he wasn't able to stop himself from turning the key until the lock clicked. He gently pushed the door open.

There were sounds going from the kitchen. Pans clanking and water running. And voices. One was Cameron's; that he was certain of. But the other…

The voices went quiet when they registered the front door had been opened.

House braced himself for whatever onslaught was coming his way, while a part of his mind mentally catalogued everything he could remember about the walk from his bike to Cameron's front door.

The car!

He had seen her boyfriend's car outside.

Only House had realised this just a few seconds too late, as the man in question stepped out of the kitchen and laid eyes on him.

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in our house?"


End file.
